I was born a semi-diva. I married a redneck. Through the magic of osmosis or just because of a serious lack of sophistication over the years I have found a balance of the two that make me who I am today. And then I write about it all, much to the chagrin of my mother.

Monday, June 14, 2004

Air conditioning!!!!!!!!

Praise the Lord, we finally turned on the AC. I'm telling you what, I really do not know if I could've lasted one more stinkin', sweaty day in this miserably hot house without air. Agh, it's been awful. Today was the clincher. My friend, Trishia, called this morning and asked if I was about to crack. They're holding off turning theirs on, also, but I think she may have very well caved in by this evening. Call me a wuss, whatever you want, but I will be cool when I wake up in the morning, that's one thing I know for sure.

Being this hot and humid for an extended period of time, you do things that you never dreamed you would. Like putting deodorant under your boobs. Yes, really. I'm tellin' ya, if you have any boobs at all you know what it's like when those things start the waterfall of sweat. You wear a bra, not for support, but simply to stifle the perspiration torrents. Another friend of mine told me she did that sometimes in the summer and I never dreamed I would actually do it. But I did. And hey, it works!! Quite well, I might add. I've been taking 2 and 3 showers a day just to cool off. When I had taken shower #3 the other night and came down the hall fanning my shirt Paul gave me the strangest look and asked what the heck I was doing. I said, as straight-faced as I could, that I was drying my deodorant. I could tell he was perplexed and asked how fanning the front of my shirt would dry my deodorant under my arms. When I told him that the deodorant I was drying was not under my arms, well, he kind of blushed, not out of embarrassment, but I think simply because he sometimes marvels at the crap I do. Desperate times...

Paul and I have reached a new level in our marriage, I've decided. Not only am I sharing trade female secrets on creative anti-perspirant'ing, I am allowing him to participate in the age-old art of waxing. Sadly, it's not my eyebrows I wax. It's my arms and upper lip. Agh, the older I get, the more I resemble a Sasquatch. I know that the hair on the upper lip is simply hormones and age. The hair on my arms is nothing more than a really crappy draw in the game of Heredity. Not only did I inherit Dad's grey hair, but I've also inherited the hair on his arms. Or should I say "in-hair-it"...HA! Maybe that was funny to only me, I dunno... Aaaaaanyway... I put up with this awful anomaly for years until I finally decided that it would have a hold on me no more. Enter Sally Hansen and her magic box of wax strips. That Sally Hansen was a sadist, I'm sure of it. Okay, to make a long story short I proceed to wax my arms the other night. If you've ever waxed you know you have to pull the skin taut when you rip the strips off, if you've never waxed, well now you know what you have to do. With the wax being on my arm I didn't have the extra hand to spare, so I trot up front with this hot-pink strip glued to my left fore-arm. Paul and the looks he gives me....poor guy. I asked him if he could do me a favor. Believe me, it was met with trepidation, but he agreed. He was kind of impressed at the results and enjoyed holding the strip up to the light to see just how much hair it had ripped from my body. So when it came time to do the right arm, I trot up to the recliner again, except this time he says he wants to rip the strip off while I hold the skin taut. Believe me, that was met with trepidation. But I let him. I'm thinking that he and that sadist, Sally Hansen, are twins separated at birth.

There are two conflicting theories I have regarding being married long enough to allow your spouse to do such things (or worse!) with/for you. One is that we have been together so long that we have reached a level of comfortableness that supercedes most relationships. I mean, he's seen me give birth to 3 children, so obviously the modesty barrier was broken a long time ago. But to allow each other to participate in the ordinary not-so-pretty moments of life, like waxing, well,that takes quite a bit more than breaking a simple modesty barrier. We are comfortable in who we are, not only with ourselves, but with each other as well. We are truly a couple, a long-term couple. The other thought is that aw, to heck with it, he's the only man to see me naked in 11 1/2 years. It's not a matter of being comfortable with each other, it's just who's available at the right times. Not like I'm going to call my Mom at 10pm with a wax strip stuck to my forearm and ask her to drive out here to hold my skin taut while I rip the hair out from the root.

I'm not sure which theory I'm going with at this point... I'll ponder it some more while I pluck my eyebrows. In the living room. Under the light of the lamp next to his recliner. While he watches WWE.

(PS: The Diva will be incommunicado for a few days. Taking a little selfish vacation. Need some ME time in a desperate way! Will write when I get back into town. XOXO)

Strangely enough, it's all true.

I was born a semi-diva. I married a redneck. Through the magic of osmosis or just because of a serious lack of sophistication over the years I have found a balance of the two that make me what I am today. And then I write about it all, much to the chagrin of my mother.